


The Schrodinger Effect

by Magi_Silverwolf



Series: To Make a Difference [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Asexual Character, Death of minor characters pre-story, End of an Established Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Wartime Atrocities, Kismet, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Not a Crossover But..., Oblivious as Always, Off-screen Relationship(s), Paradox Potentiality Resolved, Platonic Bed-sharing, Platonic Cuddling, Post-War, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Society, Subtle Shipper on Board, Too Late Realizations, Touch-Starved, aftermath of war, pre-time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8917288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magi_Silverwolf/pseuds/Magi_Silverwolf
Summary: There are things which get lost in a war. In the aftermath, there are also things which get found.





	1. The Empty Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.
> 
> Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. Also, Author is an American attempting to use British witticisms and slang. This may not always be a successful endeavor.
> 
> Reviews: Reviews of any sort are welcomed. Constructive criticism, such as pointing out writing errors or unexplained out of character-ness, are very great and tremendously welcomed with wide open arms and mind. Scathing reviews targeting content based upon perceived insults and/or offensiveness to any of the following: race, religion/spirituality/philosophy, disability, political opinion, ethnicity, sexuality, or inclusion (real or perceived) in a particular social group, will be considered flames and reported justly. I do not care if you wish to put forth hate, but do it in a calm, rational manner or do it somewhere else.  
> ʘ Another note about reviews before I go and update this thing: if you spend the time and effort to give me a lengthy review, I will try to remember to reply, so please do so while signed in so that I may. It probably won't be promptly, so be prepared for that, but I will do my best. I will try to fix any errors that are pointed out as quickly as possible. Regardless of length, I read every review and I love passionate expressions of enjoyment. Seriously. It’s like writer-nip.
> 
> Author’s Note: This story is being updated for formatting and continuity issues. It has also come to my attention that JKR has given Mrs. Lovegood a name in a Pottermore article. It’s a good name, I’m sure, but I’m not going to use it because …reasons… Dione is being used instead. Again, for reasons. In case that’s not vague enough.

-= LP =-

The Schrodinger Effect

Part 1: The Empty Tower

-= LP =-

“It was a fine cry—loud and long—but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.” – Toni Morrison, _Sula_

-= LP =-

 

_It’s funny how silence can be so loud._

_After my beloved Dione had died, it had been silent here in the Rookery for weeks. The brief moments when Luna and I would exchange a few lines that even now in memory seem like they would easily fit in a muggle primary play…they didn’t do anything to really relieve it, but they were a damned sight better than what I’ve got now. Dione’s mother, Phoebe, had shattered that silence that lingered with her usual…flair…There’s no hope of a repeat performance. Phoebe passed away during Luna’s third year due to a nasty case of Dragon Pox._

_That’s the crux of my problem, you see._

_There’s no hope._

_Dione was stolen from me by the cruel mistress she served–that hard task manager of New Magic. I held on for my daughter, bright little Luna…Phoebe may have put me back together for her, but it was Luna’s need for her father that kept me that way. My brilliant Luna, so brave in the light of everything, all the Darkness that the world has to offer. **They** took her, the bastards. They stole my little girl right off the Hogwarts Express as she made her way from the warzone of Hogwarts back to the safety of our home._

_Why did they, you ask?_

_They wanted me to not print the Truth, of course. The Dark Lord didn’t want the Light side to have any possibility of a rallying point and Truth had a way of mobilizing people, a way of propelling them down the path of what is right and not easy. I cannot say that I was strong enough to remember that as I faced down the knowledge that my precious and beloved Luna was …somewhere…Oh, sweet Goddess, I don’t even know where she was hidden._

_What changed, you ask?_

_Harry Potter. What else? I met him…in my living room. There’s this aura about him, you see…he doesn’t expect anything, and by that very act of obliviousness, he shows one the Truth of their actions. Like a mirror that reflects only what you present to it, he propels you to look at yourself._

_I could not, ultimately, face the image of myself I saw in his eyes the moment that he realized that I had sacrificed my principles and the only hope that Britannia, and perhaps, even the world, had…just on the off chance that they would do as they say and release my daughter to me. I am no longer a man of which my daughter can be proud. And I must face certain unpleasant facts about my situation._

_They’ve had Luna for two months and three days now. I have no proof of her state of wellbeing. I do have proof that her captors are cruel, heartless brutes who should not be allowed around Knockturn Alley whores, let alone a young witch barely of age. They’ve done this before, this disappearing act with loved ones. To date, none have been returned except in pieces or as corpses._

_My Luna…my moonbeam…my brave, sweet, brilliant girl…she is gone._

_And all that is left is the silence of an empty home._

_I am going to the Ministry to inquire with the Snatchers one last time. I will not be shunted away this time. Should that happen, I will do what any man, what any **father**_ _would do. I will take out as many of them as I can before they stop me. I updated my will with the Goblins, even though it still includes my Luna. Harry Potter has worked miracles before. Perhaps…perhaps he’ll do the impossible once more and free my Luna from her prison, wherever she be._

_But I must be the role model that my daughter would need. So this is my final publication, my little farewell to the world._

_And to the silence that haunts me._

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Quibbler Editor in Chief_

-= LP =-

Luna let the letter fall from her now-trembling hands. It fluttered to the ground like a feather. Suddenly her knees felt as strong as a cooked noodle. They crumpled beneath her. She shivered despite the May heat as she struggled with the enormous concept placed before her by those little purple words written in her father’s hand. She had been expecting…They had won. Tears stung her eyes. _They had won_. But she was alone.

 

In the silence.

 

She felt it building in the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. She swallowed hard in an attempt to dislodge it. It hadn’t helped when she watched the spell backfire and kill her mother before her very eyes. Nor did it ever help with the nightmares that followed. But the pain in her chest just kept compressing, pushing up the scream. When it finally came, it was like a banshee’s wail. It hurt, oh Goddess, how it hurt. It was like all the pain in the world had been stabbed right into the very body of her soul. She screamed again, hoping against hope that there would be something…some relief from the excruciating torture of the knowledge that _they had won_ but much too late for the Lovegood family.

 

The silence mocked her, almost deafeningly loud with its emptiness.

 

They had won.

 

But she had lost.

 

 _Everything_.


	2. Haunted

-= LP =-

The Schrodinger Effect

Part 2: Haunted

-= LP =-

"I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to accept the death of anyone else. I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that country of no return. Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in its wake." – Maya Angelou

-= LP =-

 

Neville noticed her first.

 

Admittedly, Harry had the great excuse of being busy disappointing the two rather lovely birds who were trying to coax him onto the dance floor of the pub they were currently visiting. If Neville had been Ron, perhaps he would have been jealous of being overlooked like this whenever they went out, but Neville was comfortable playing second violin to Harry. It wasn’t just a matter of him being the Boy-Who-Lived—which didn’t matter here in a muggle bar anyroad. Harry had an air about him that made girls swoon, even when he didn’t say anything to them first. Neville stifled a chuckle at the flummoxed look on his friend’s face as one of the women whispered in his ear. He turned away to keep from laughing outright and that’s when he saw Luna’s pale form at a booth in the corner.

 

She did not look good. He could tell that even from their place at the bar. Any humor he felt at Harry’s predicament disappeared. No one had seen or heard from Luna since the Final Battle. Neville turned back to Harry and patted his arm.

 

“Luna, mate,” Neville stated. It was a testament to the recent war that Harry instantly grew serious at his tone and sent the women on their way in a brisker manner than strictly needed, making them huff at the very real brush off. Harry made a motion towards where Neville knew he had stashed his wand. Neville shook his head before jerking it towards the Ravenclaw’s booth. Harry took one look and was on his feet. As one, they moved through the crowded pub towards their wayward friend.

 

“Hey, Luna,” Harry greeted as he slid in beside the tow-headed witch. Luna blinked at him before a dreamy smile graced her chapped lips. Her grayish-blue eyes were bloodshot and she had gin-roses on both her cheeks. She shook her head as if she was silently laughing at them. Neville's sense of wrongness grew. He knew that look far too well from this last year at Hogwarts. He had seen her after one of the Carrows had gotten a hold of her—this was very close to that.

 

"Horses prefer beer, Harry," Luna replied flippantly and with more than little slurring. She took a gulp of her drink and giggled. Then she walked her fingers up Harry's arm before grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him down for a quick peck on the lips which she followed with an equally quick swipe of her tongue. Neville felt his eyes widen in shock. _What in the name of the Morrigan?_ "You're cute though, so I'm prepared to forgive you. How are you?"

 

"We're fine, Luna," Neville said while Harry appeared to be struggling to catch up on things. "We're a bit more concerned about you at the moment though…you don't look well…"

 

"I'm full of Wrackspurts at the moment. It's toasty."

 

"Um…" Harry appeared to not know what to say to that blunt statement. Neville raised a finger to warn him against saying anything, but the Man-Who-Lived rushed in like the Gryffindor he was. "You kissed me, Luna."

 

"Yes, Harry," she replied smugly, "I did."

 

"Luna, you're scaring the man," Neville spoke up in warning. Harry was now looking thoroughly confused. Luna took one look at his face and giggled again. She grinned mercilessly as she took another drink from her cup of some clear liquid that Neville eyed suspiciously. Luna was clearly intoxicated, not that it took much for her to become so. By her seventh butterbeer, Luna was tipsy. But Neville had never seen her like _this_. "And you're inebriated."

 

"No, my dear, I'm drunk," Luna corrected happily. She laid her head down on Harry's shoulder and looked up at where Neville was slowly sliding into the booth across from them. "Three tablecloths, at least."

 

"Sheets," Harry put in, causing Luna to jerk her head up to get a better look at his face. "The phrase is three sheets to the wind. What I don't understand is how? You don't smell it…" Luna just gave Harry a smile before giving him another chaste kiss on the lips. This she followed by an affectionate rub of their noses.

 

"You're cute when you're being smart," she told him before waving at the bartender. She called out to the man behind the bar in a singsong voice. "Oho, Bartender! Another round for me and my friends!"

 

Neville turned just in time to see the burly man shake his head as he began to fill three glasses from something that Neville could not see. He turned back to see Luna placing kisses down Harry's neck while Harry looked frozen. Neville noticed that Harry's hands were both gripping the table as if it were a lifeline. His green eyes were half covered by his eyelids as the infamous defeater of Voldemort tried his damnedest not to react to the little blonde. Neville did not find this to be nearly as humorous as the birds from earlier. Frowning, he cleared his throat.

 

"What have you been drinking, Luna?"

 

"Wa-Water," Harry groaned out. Luna giggled against Harry's neck. Neville looked Harry curiously for a moment before he snatched Luna's almost empty cup from in front of her. He tested it like he had learned from Uncle Algie. It was water all right. He looked back at his friend.

 

"How—Oh, never mind. Not really important. Luna, what did you have before the water?"

 

"Alchemist's Whiskey," supplied the Ravenclaw before nuzzling the spot where Harry's neck met his shoulder. Harry mouthed the phrase 'save me' to Neville. Neville nearly lunged across the table in his attempt to grab Luna's shoulder. The girl shook her head in response and buried her face against the spot she had been nuzzling. Her slim arm came up to hold Harry still. Neville awkwardly patted her on the back.

 

"Where in the name of the Morrigan did you get Alchemist's Whiskey?" Neville demanded as gently as he could. At Harry's blank look, Neville explained. "It's illegal to sale in Britannia due to the fact that it is terribly addictive and can't be countered by a Sobering Potion. Water causes it to spread and multiply within the body." He added that bit just as the waitress delivered their drinks—all three of which were plain water. Neville's frown deepened. What _exactly_ had Luna been trying to do? Kill herself?

 

"Daddy—" Luna had to swallow hard after that one word. She looked up at her questioner with eyes darkened with the same nameless grief he had seen far too often on survivors' faces. His heart clenched in warning. "Daddy gets a bottle for Yule every year from Uncle Crius, along with other spirits with unusual properties. Uncle Crius makes them, you see."

 

"Luna, where's Xenophilius _now_?"

 

Harry's question was softly spoken, but Luna flinched as if he was shouting. That clench in his heart was back. _'Oh, Luna…’_ Harry was apparently thinking along the same lines because he pulled Luna back against his side. When she buried her face in his shoulder, Harry rested his head against the top of hers. Her whole body quivered and shuddered for several long moments.

 

Finally, Luna pulled away and scooted further into the corner of the booth, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her long sleeved tee shirt. She reached for her new glass. Neville was quick to grab her wrist to prevent the inevitable movement that would follow. She looked at him startled. With their eyes meeting like that, the Longbottom heir could see the dilated pupils that demonstrated Alchemist's Whiskey use. He shook his head, a slow sobering motion. She heaved a great sigh but pulled back without the beverage.

 

"He—" She drew a hitched breath. Her silvery eyes closed briefly and her lips moved without sound as she wrapped her arms around herself. She was too thin. Neville noted this and wondered when the last time she ate was. The last time anyone had heard from her or seen her was a good two weeks—had she even slept? There were purplish hollows under her eyes testifying at exhaustion. "He's gone. He left a letter. He went searching for me near the end of February. He…"

 

"He's the one who attacked the Ministry alone," Neville finished quietly. Luna nodded, anguish on her face. Once more, Harry looked confused. Neville continued in sober tones, any effects from the beers drunk earlier in their 'pub crawl' gone under the weight of the new knowledge about his fellow DA member. "On February twenty-sixth, there was an attack upon the Ministry by a lone attacker. He fought fiercely and decimated a good third of the DMLE forces before finally being taken down by Rabastan Lestrange with a Killing Curse."

 

"He just wanted to know where I was; that I was okay. Harry rescued me three weeks and five days after Daddy—after Daddy—" Luna made an odd choking sound before she scrubbed her face with her hands. She finished the thought weakly. "After the End."

 

"Luna, I'm sor—"

 

"Don't, Harry," Luna interrupted, all traces of dreaminess absent from her voice. "Just don't. It's not your fault. You can't save everyone."

 

"But I should have tried. I should've—"

 

"I'm with Luna on this one, Harry," Neville took his turn interrupting the Boy-Who-Broods-Too-Much. "There's no way you could have known where she was being held. It was a bloody feat that you managed to live when you did find her. You can't have saved everyone, and the 'should have, would have, could have's of it all will drive you barmy if you focus on them."

 

"I know I can't go back in time, but if I could—"

 

"Oh, you're a genius," Luna exclaimed. There was now a gleam in her eyes that Neville recognized from when she proposed that they break into the Headmaster's office. A cold chill ran down his spine as if a vampire had run his finger down the sensitive column. Luna grabbed a fistful of Harry's shirt and smashed their lips together. He heard a squeak that he would have to tease Harry about later before Luna deepened the kiss. The admittedly odd girl pulled back and faced them both with a grin. "You can tell Hermione that she's a lucky girl."

 

"Er…what just happened?"

 

"You came up the perfect solution. I rewarded the good behavior and complimented Hermione's taste in wizards."

 

"But she's with Ron?"

 

"Yeah, right," Luna replied skeptically. "He's an idiot who couldn't think his way out of a paper bag. He's also mean. She wouldn't be that silly."

 

"He's my best mate," Harry protested, "and she loves him."

 

"And I love the fairies in the glade near the Rookery. Doesn't mean that I want to date one."

 

"I…Neville, please stop laughing."

 

"I can't help it," Neville wheezed out between chuckles. "The look on your face is priceless!"

 

"Oh, dear, I think my Wrackspurts are spreading." Luna blinked owlishly at them. Suddenly, her nose scrunched up and her eyes crossed as if to look at it. "The fuzzy feeling between my eyes is getting heavy. I think—"

 

"Oh, no—Harry, catch her!"

 

Harry did not react in time to catch Luna before her head thudded against the table, disturbing the untouched glasses of water with the force. All three wobbled dangerously, but only one fell over, instantly dousing Harry's lap with its contents. Thankfully, Harry didn't react to that and was able to get a firm grasp on the now passed out witch before she slid under the table. Neville shook his head at Harry's quizzical gaze.

 

"Another side effect," he supplied. "Let's get her out of here. Your place or mine?"

 

"Yours," Harry said after a moment of thought. "Grimmauld Place is a bit crowded at the moment with Order members."

 

"Ah, yes, the infamous Order," Neville said with a wistful sigh. "Well, off to Thistlewood Manor then. Let's hope that Gran is asleep."

 

"What do we do if she's not?"

 

"Well, you can explain why I'm bringing a woman home at ten o'clock at night."

 

"What will you be doing while I'm facing down _your_ grandmother?" Harry asked suspiciously as he struggled to get out of the booth without dropping Luna. Neville gave a smirk worthy of Draco Malfoy.

 

"I will be running for the hills, of course."

 

"How… _Gryffindor_ of you, Nev."

 

"Why thank you."


	3. Meddling Concepts

-= LP =-

The Schrodinger Effect

**Part 03: Meddling Concepts**

-= LP =-

“In the darkest of times, hope is something you give yourself.” –Uncle Iroh, _Avatar: the Last Airbender_

-= LP =-

 

It was strange at first, having Luna around all the time. After the night that they found her in that pub, both Harry and Neville were leery about letting her return to the Rookery. Both knew their friend had a tendency to live inside of her head unless deliberately kept out of it. So they decided to keep her with them as much as possible, even if it meant dragging her with them to Hogwarts every day.

 

It soon became very clear that while she had only completed six years of her formal magical education, Luna was clearly well-versed in obscure and ancient magic. Luna had a way of looking at things from a rather _unique_ perspective which became increasingly useful as Flitwick began repairing the magic and wards of Hogwarts. Harry had expressed surprise at that responsibility being taken up by the diminutive man, but Neville had quickly explained about magical creature inheritances. As a half-goblin, Flitwick had not only keen senses for nuanced variations of magic, but also training in more types of magic. He then honed his childhood training with the attainment of a Mastery of Charms. Having inherited her mother’s vast collection of work journals and books on theoretical magic, Luna had a similar degree of training despite her youth. While Neville and Harry worked on the crews doing the physical repairs on the castle, Luna and Flitwick sequestered themselves with Vector and Babbling in the Ward room, doing their best to repair the intricate magical network which had been last studied when the Founders created it.

 

It was in the middle of the Solstice celebration that another of her advantages was revealed to her self-appointed guardians. Luna could see magic. Noticing how tense both the men got at her revelation, and knowing that Sight was considered to be a Dark ability, she had stumbled over her words in her rush to reassure them. Neville had stopped her by pulling her into his lap.

 

“Nothing will ever make us believe that you are evil, Luna,” Neville reassured her.

 

“Even if I turn Dark?”

 

“You will never be Dark,” Harry whispered as he knelt beside Neville’s bent knees where the other Gryffindor was holding the little blonde. Luna looked as if she was about to argue and Harry placed a finger against her lips. “No. You don’t get to say anything different. I know you, Luna. You may have a rare ability that is thought of as Dark, but so is parseltongue and you have never thought less of me for that. So I’m not going to think less of you for being able to see magic…besides,” he said with a wry smile, “that would be hypocritical of me.”

 

“What do you mean?” Neville asked.

 

“I can see it, too,” Harry confessed quietly. Luna blinked at him while confusion colored Neville’s face. Harry looked away as he resisted the urge to fidget with the hem of his jumper. “I figured out quickly that it was _not normal_ for a wizard, so I decided to act as if I couldn’t and not mention anything about it. I wish I had done the same with being a parselmouth, but I didn’t figure that out until after the whole school knew. But you see, it would be hypocritical to think you’d be evil just because you have a certain ability.”

 

Luna pulled Harry to her, knocking him off balance. The result of this was Harry’s face buried in her stomach with Neville’s knees digging into Harry’s chest. That is, it was until Neville shifted his legs apart to allow Harry to slide between them. It was an awkward hug, but what it lacked in comfort, it made up for in the warmth that it shared between the three friends.

 

Just like that, the three of them had become a unit. Luna and Neville didn’t replace Ron and Hermione, but as Ron busied himself helping George run the shop and Hermione worked with Kingsley to organize the shambles that Voldemort had left of the Ministry, they had left a gap in Harry’s life. Neville and Harry had fallen in together due to being on the crew repairing Hogwarts. It surprised Harry, in the brief moments he could pause to think about it, that the Wizarding World had been able to bounce back from Voldemort’s rule so quickly after _his_ fall. They buried their dead, picked up the broken pieces of their society, and carried on like the Brits that most of them were.

 

The three of them practically moved into Neville’s suite at Thistlewood Manor. This had the benefit of Neville and Harry being able to wash the dirt and grime off before the house elves delivered dinner. Despite Neville’s fears about his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom did not seem to have any problem with Neville sharing living space with Luna and Harry. In fact, she seemed to encourage the budding partnership by assigning the adjacent rooms to Neville’s suite to them.

 

It did mean that Harry moved out of Grimmauld Place, where he had been staying, despite Molly Weasley’s insistent invitation to stay at the Burrow. Ginny didn’t seem to mind Harry’s new friends, despite the fact that he spent more time with Neville and Luna than he did her, especially after he moved into the manor. Her ambivalence most likely was due to her pursuit of a spot on the Hollyhead Harpies rather than disinterest in her boyfriend. Harry didn’t care either way, as her interest had bothered him at times and the respite from that was a relief.

 

"We could do it, you know," Luna announced at dinner a week after her revelation about seeing magic. When Harry and Neville looked up at her with matching confused expressions, she repeated herself. The two men exchanged glances at each other. She watched as their energy sparked off each other in that silent communion that they shared so often. It brought a slight upturn to her lips even as a part of her that remembered her parents' sparks twisted in loss. When they returned their attention to her, she simply repeated her statement.

 

"Luna," Harry carefully enunciated, as if her name carried some weight that she was unaware of, "we don't actually know what you are talking about."

 

"Temporal energy is still energy," Luna said. Neville lost color under his tan but Harry still looked confused. "We are Magi. We are born with the innate ability to use one type of energy and one type of energy can be used to harness another. It would just take figuring out the _how_."

 

"Luna, we can't," Neville denied weakly. He seemed to be barely holding himself together. "Terrible things happen when wizards meddle with time--"

 

"Like, what? Are they tortured? Do they die?"

 

Her words were quietly spoken and lacked accusation. Even still, Neville fell silent. There was a loud clatter as Harry rose from his seat so violently that his chair went to the ground. He paid it no mind as he came around the table to kneel beside her. He raised a hand hesitantly to cup her cheek. The action was sealed by the cool moisture that she hadn't even been aware of leaking.

 

"Luna," Harry whispered with the same gentleness she had seen him use with a thestral during their forbidden wanderings during Umbridge's tenure as Defense teacher. His dark green eyes beseeched her to let him help, even though they both knew that there was actually very little to be done. "The time turners were destroyed and even if they weren’t, going back a few hours won't change anything. The past is fixed."

 

"What if it isn't?"

 

"I don't understand," Harry said even as the thought took root like one of Neville's plants, growing with every passing second. What would he change? There were too many things to count. He should have acted much sooner—he _would_ have acted sooner if he had the knowledge. But the past wasn’t like an essay. It couldn’t be changed once it has occurred. Like Devil’s Snare, the idea began to strangle all other thoughts.

 

Luna slid out of her seat so that she had straddled his lap without putting any weight down on his legs. She lifted two trembling hands to cup his face similarly to how he was cupping hers. She was so close that he could smell a soft floral scent that was vaguely familiar. His heart ached at the very idea that the past could be changed. But it _couldn’t_ be, could it?

 

"I don't understand," Harry forced through lips that had gone numb.

 

"What if the past wasn't fixed? What if we could change it? What if time could be rewritten?"

 

"Oh, god," he gasped as the ramifications that he had been trying to deny hit him. What if he could save all of them? He repeated himself before a sob which he could not voice began to choke him. Desperately, he pulled the slight girl closer to him. Luna acquiesced easily, pressing his forehead against the space above her pert breasts. Her left hand slid along his jaw to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck while her right fisted in the pullover shirt that covered his shoulder. The pair found themselves being pulled into Neville's arms.

 

The warmth seeping from the gardener broke loose the sob. It followed by several more as Harry lost himself to the grief that had been building for all his life. So many had died for him, because some duffer of a dark lord believed in predestination. But it could be changed.

 

And Harry knew, in a moment of perfect brilliance, that it would be changed. It was only a matter of ‘ _how’_.


	4. Tainted

-= LP =-

The Schrodinger Effect

Part 4: Tainted

-= LP =-

“There are no unwanted children. Just unfound families.” – National Adoption Center

-= LP =-

 

Luna was a different person after their conversation in the kitchen. She took on the challenge of inventing a method of time travel like a possessed person. She would study rune texts from the time that the trio returned from Hogwarts until Harry or Neville dragged her to bed in the wee hours of the morning. When she wasn't reading, she was scribbling away in a small leather-bound books or folded pages of parchment that she stuck into said book. Sometimes, she would arrange the pages upon a convenient surface and stare at them with a faraway look upon her face. Then she would switch a few of the pages.

 

The stress of it took its toll. The already pale girl grew even more so with dark smudges under her gray eyes. Her blond hair became the same dingy shade as dishwater. It was so dry that it had developed split ends, giving her mane a fuzzy halo of frizz.

 

Harry and Neville had taken to tucking her into bed between them, a precaution against the nights when the darkness of even a familiar bedroom was too heavy to be stood. The two Gryffindors had found earlier in the summer that having a comforting friend in the room helped relieve that oppressive weight. It only made sense to include the little Ravenclaw. Too many nights had Luna crying into one of their chests while the other rubbed her back. It broke Harry’s heart how much grief Luna held within herself even as the fact that she was willing to turn to him and Neville for comfort warmed him. Being there for Luna gave him something to do in the evenings just like rebuilding Hogwarts gave him something during the day. It made him feel useful and needed, which he had not even noticed being a need before he started growing apart from Ron and Hermione—and Ginny as well, even if that thought felt like a betrayal.

 

When Luna had first suggested her research project, Harry had not imagined that anything would come from it, no matter how much he _wanted_ to be able to save those who had been lost in the War. Going back in time any significant amount of time, let alone as far back as it would take to save Luna’s mother, had seemed so impossible. He allowed Luna to throw herself into the topic mostly as a way for her to occupy herself in the hours which weren’t already consumed by the rebuilding of Hogwarts, and with the complete understanding that there was no real way to stop her. Harry didn’t share with anyone, not even Ginny, how much he loved watching her work. It relaxed something in him to know that she was safely tucked away in the library at Thistlewood Manor while he couldn’t be with her. She was safe and not in some dungeon being tortured.

 

It was a request for a specific book that led to the pair of them heading to Grimmauld Place one evening, a week before the large bash that Augusta Longbottom was planning for her only grandson. Neville had been suckered into being fitted for a new set of dress robes for the occasion. It was truly a time to celebrate as the heavy work to repair Hogwarts Castle had been completed and in a unanimous decision, the Board of Governors had decided to keep Minerva McGonagall on as Headmistress in the new school year, slated to start at the normal time. Life was beginning to look hopeful. The freedom allowed Luna to throw herself more fully into her research, hence the request which led them to Grimmauld Place.

 

Harry almost didn’t recognize the home that he had inherited from his godfather. Any trace of dirt and dust was gone. While the wallpaper was still faded, it was no longer peeling or loose from the wall. Even knowing that most of the surviving members of the Order had been using the place as a base for the repair efforts—something that Harry had no problem with, even if he wasn’t staying there, as he had a new understanding of how familial wards worked since becoming friends with Neville (though the idea that they had abandoned the place when that Death Eater had been brought within the Fidelius when there had been no way that anyone not already approved by the master of the house could have entered still annoyed Harry when he spent too long thinking about it)—Harry had not been expecting such a drastic change to the house. The clean state extended to the feel that the house had. It no longer felt as full of nightmares as it had the last time he had been here despite it having only been six weeks.

 

“Wha…” Harry questioned as he moved down the entry hall and turning in circles to look around him. There was the distinctive sound of a house elf popping into existence on the stairs above his head. Harry snapped his attention to the little guy. Kreacher stood proudly on the seventh step from the bottom, making him even with Harry’s head. The house elf wore a stark white pillowcase and Regulus’ locket, but otherwise seemed unchanged. His brown skin had just as many folds as his pillowcase. His back was slightly stooped, even while he stood as straight as he could, but for the first time, Harry recognized that this was probably more due to age than attitude. Living at Thistlewood had broadened his exposure to house elves and now Harry could tell that Kreacher was much older than most of the elves that were still actively serving. A nagging seed began to take root. How long did house elves live?  “Hello, Kreacher,” he said instead. “How have you been?”

 

“Master Harry Potter has finally come home,” Kreacher replied, ignoring the question. “Kreacher was beginning to think he had forgotten where he lived again. Kreacher was worried that he would find his Master fighting bad wizards again instead of being home safe with Kreacher.”

 

“I’m sorry, Kreacher,” Harry said. He felt about a foot tall at the magical servant’s evenly spoken complaint. Perhaps he should have mentioned that he was going to be staying with Neville to the elf instead of lumping him in with the other people who came and went from the house. Still, Harry had grown up without anyone caring about his whereabouts unless they were attempting to control said whereabouts. “I didn’t think that you’d be worried. How have you been otherwise? I know that you’ve must have been working hard. The house looks much better.”

 

“Kreacher has something that he must tell his Master,” Kreacher replied, once again ignoring the personal inquiry. “Master Harry Potter must listen to Kreacher and mustn’t tell his mudblood.”

 

“Kreacher, I thought we talked about this,” Harry said with disappointment. “You shouldn’t call her that. It’s not nice.” He was careful to keep his rebuke from being an order. Harry understood having his words and actions being dictated to him and didn’t want to do the same to anyone, not anymore. It was only his seeker reflexes which allowed him to stop Kreacher’s hand from reaching his ear to twist it. “And have I been gone so long that you have forgotten that I had ordered you not to punish yourself? If you need it, I promised you that I will take care of it.” Kreacher’s eyes were getting suspiciously moist-looking but where Dobby would have wept, Kreacher merely sniffed. He didn’t fight Harry’s hold on his hand though. Knowing that he wasn’t going to get any answer to his question, Harry decided to move the conversation along. “What is it that I need to know that I can’t tell Hermione?”

 

“Kreacher has been a bad elf,” Kreacher answered. Even with the words, Kreacher didn’t look repentant. He looked decidedly smug as he uttered the words. “Kreacher has stolen something from Hogwarts. Kreacher knows that stealing is wrong but Kreacher is such a bad elf that even if he was given clothes, he would not return what he stole! The mudblood would have Kreacher returning what he stole and Master Harry Potter must never let that happen!”

 

Kreacher’s eyes went wide at his last words. Harry knew what the issue was immediately. That last bit sounded very close to an order. Even as surly and disgruntled as Kreacher had been with Sirius, he never would have dared to give a master an order. When Harry had returned to Grimmauld Place after the final battle, and to the company of his inherited slave, Harry had decided to continue fixing the problems that had been dumped on him. Namely, this meant changing how he and Kreacher interacted. The long hours spent alone on sentry duty over the months of camping had given Harry a chance to, well, brood on his lot in life and what had happened to lead to sitting out in the cold in the middle of nowhere to avoid being captured by Death Eaters. Inevitably, Hermione’s blunt words about Sirius paying for how he treated Kreacher would pop up like an unwanted daisy. Thus the decision to begin to treat Kreacher as a person. When Kreacher had reacted… _badly_ …to being ordered to not punish himself, Harry had offered the compromised that if Kreacher felt that he needed to be punished, he was to ask Harry to administer it. It was unorthodox and Kreacher always seem to be expecting Harry to be especially brutal at every flub. Hence the house elf’s current state of growing panic.

 

“Kreacher, I need you to take a deep breath,” Harry said in the same tone that he used to comfort Luna when she woke Neville and him up with nightmares. Kreacher obeyed even as his free hand bunched his pillowcase. As gently as possible, Harry captured that hand as well, working hard to ignore how the elf stiffened now that Harry held both his hands.

 

Harry spared a glance for his silent companion. Luna looked surprisingly present, which added to Harry’s feeling of foreboding about Kreacher’s declaration. Her expression was scarily similar to one that she had worn when suggesting that time could be rewritten. Neville called it her battle face, and after listening to the other Gryffindor tell selected stories of the last school year, Harry was more than willing to accept the name. Harry shook his head and refocused on his supposedly _bad_ house elf.

 

“Okay, now,” Harry rambled as he shifted Kreacher’s hands so that he held both in his left hand, “I am not upset with you for expressing yourself. Remember what we talked about? The only orders about speaking that you have to obey is to tell me the truth and to not tell personal information about me to anyone without my permission. Do you remember that? Nod if you do.” Kreacher gave a jerky nod, but didn’t relax any. Harry sighed when he realized that the small elf was beginning to tremble and a prickly feeling was moving over the area where their skin touched. He steeled himself for what he would have to do even as he asked the question to which he already knew the answer. “Kreacher, do you feel that you need to be punished?”

 

Kreacher jerked his hands, but Harry didn’t release him. He knew from experience that if he had let go of the elf, Kreacher would have proceeded to try to punish himself, which would start a meltdown worse than the one that followed Kreacher’s story about his failure to destroy the locket. When Harry described Kreacher’s reaction to being ordered not to punish himself as being bad, he was aware that this was perhaps the understatement of the century. It had quickly become apparent that Hermione was not entirely aware of why elves punished themselves. From Harry’s observation, the punishments for misbehavior seemed to be magically enforced. If a house elf misbehaved and failed to punish himself, magic would build up before lashing out against said elf. The result was always worse than letting them punish themself would have been. It had taken only one instance of the magical enforcement for Harry to sit down Kreacher and demand answers. This had led to the compromise of Harry punishing Kreacher when he needed it so long as Kreacher told him when it was needed. Aside from orders from their masters, house elves had a specific restrictions that were somehow imprinted upon them. Kreacher had been rather vague about it, though not on purpose. Just as he had simply stated that Regulus had ordered him to come home, so he did, as how he had survived the cave, Kreacher had simply said that there was things which a house elf must always do. Any attempts at getting a list out of Kreacher (or any other elf that Harry managed to get alone with a few minutes to spare for conversation) had proven beyond frustrating as the answer was always the same: “An elf knows.”

 

“Kreacher is a bad elf,” he replied in a defeated tone. As he raised his eyes to Harry’s, the realization that knowing how long a house elf lived would be useful stuck again. Kreacher’s lime green eyes had a rheumy haze over the irises. “Kreacher gave Master Harry Potter orders and is a nasty thief! Kreacher needs to be punished—Kreacher deserves to be punished.”

 

“Okay,” Harry agreed easily. Kreacher began to tremble in his grasp. “I am in charge, right?” Kreacher gave a jerky nod. Harry forced down a smile to keep from scaring Kreacher even more. “So, I get to decide how you’re punished, right?” Again, Kreacher nodded. Harry shuffled both of Kreacher’s hands into one of his. Then Harry gave a single flick to Kreacher’s sharply-hooked nose. The elf stared cross-eyed at his nose for a moment before glaring at Harry.  Harry gave into the urge to grin at the disgruntled servant. “Now that you are duly punished for your heinous actions, exactly _what_ did you steal from Hogwarts?”

 

“ _Master_ —“ Kreacher started only to bite off his own words to shake his head. Instead, the aged elf drew himself back into his defiant stance. When he spoke, it was with all the confidence he used when declaring Sirius a shame to the House of Black. “Kreacher stole an elfling. Kreacher will _not_ be giving her back!”

 

“An elfling? As in a baby house elf?” Kreacher nodded before pulling Harry along with him up the stairs. The two ascended easily, followed by Luna’s almost silent presence. There was a closet on the third floor that Harry had modified in the days immediately following the Final Battle so that it could be used as a bedroom for a small-sized person. Harry couldn’t stand the thought of allowing Kreacher to stay in any kind of cupboard and Kreacher refused to take an entire room. The modified closet was their compromised.

 

Even with the knowledge that Kreacher had stolen a baby, Harry was still surprised to see the swaddled bundle at the center of Kreacher’s nest-box. At the sound of the door opening, the bundle squirmed and blinked open tiny eyes to stare at them. The tiny face poking out of the pale green blanket was heartbreakingly familiar. Though the elf had tea-colored eyes, everything else was very much a tiny version of Dobby’s face. It barely took a few seconds longer to realize where he had seen eyes that shade of brown before on a house elf. Harry raised disbelieving eyes to Kreacher’s position near his nest-box.

 

“How…?”

 

“Winky had the baby while the rest of us was fighting with the bad wizards,” Kreacher said. He seemed confident enough to climb gingerly into his nest. With gentle hands, he picked up the elfling, soothing away the fussing which were working towards a full cry. “A bad wizard found the Nest at Hogwarts. It was just the nestlings and Winky. Winky did her best but her magic—She protected the nestlings, even if it costs her life. Winky would have been a good dam. The others—They did not want the babe. They—Winky was a _bad elf_ just like Dobby.”

 

“Oh,” Luna said, “of course.” Harry turned towards her. If anyone could understand what was going on, it would be Luna. Luna probably knew more about magical beings and creatures than anyone else Harry knew, even Hagrid. Luna didn’t disappoint. “Winky and Dobby had been given clothes. Neither one of them managed to bond with another family before their deaths. In house elf society, they were seditious. Any elfling born to them would be considered similarly tainted.”

 

“No,” Harry whispered, horrified. His gaze drifted back to the tiny infant snuggling into Kreacher’s bony chest. His aunt and uncle didn’t often talk about his inheritance from his parents, except to say how Harry was _just like them_. Marge had no such qualms and spoke about how _tainted_ Harry’s blood was. _‘Bad blood in the bitch, and bad blood in the whelp_.’ Any kind of continued response to Luna’s revelation that even house elves, a magical creature whose plight Hermione championed to this day, was cut off by the flood of memory. In an effort to reassure the still-worried Kreacher, Harry reached out to grasp the thin shoulder. The house elf flinched before appearing to steel himself for whatever command Harry gave. “Kreacher, what—what do I need to do to keep her?”

 

“ _Master_ ,” Kreacher breathed. The single word held so much emotion that it was difficult to decipher it all. His eyes shone with unshed tears, and his voice thick with the same. It was clear that he had not hoped to still keep his stolen child. “Kreacher will give Master the words to claim the elfling. Master Harry Potter can choose a name for her, as he wishes, but Kreacher has been calling her something these past weeks. It is not a proper house elf name, but Kreacher...Kreacher thought it would honor her parents and Master Harry Potter.”

 

“What have you named her?” Luna asked gently when it looked like Harry couldn’t get the words out any easier than Kreacher had. When the house elf answered, Harry choked and gathered the two house elves into a fierce embrace. Even Luna was a bit shocked at the choice, understanding more of the nuances than Harry would have. The power of names had been something she had been raised with while Harry wouldn’t have, being raised in the muggle world. She couldn’t wait to tell Neville. The tight embrace lasted until the baby started to cry from being squished. Harry took her reverently from her guardian, peering down at her face with an adoration that made Luna long to see him with a child of his own.

 

“You will be loved,” Harry vowed to the elf-babe. He brushed a finger over her brow and down her long nose. “My precious Lily, you will be loved.”


	5. Laughing Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is making plans for things, but do they remember what making plans _means_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note(s): I have to admit that I love the extremely subtle shipper on board that I've worked into this chapter. Of course, Harry is oblivious as usual. Someone needs to sit him down and explain certain things to him. I'm fairly certain that the poor boy will not get it otherwise.

-= LP =-

The Schrodinger Effect

Part 05: Laughing Gods

-= LP =-

“Remember when the darkness wasn’t all you had to see? Remember when a part of you still hoped for what could be? Well, I got this suit of armor and a sword I need to swing. Wake, wake, wake up, child.”

– The Rigs, _All the King’s Men_

-= LP =-

 

Harry knew that he shouldn’t be nervous. They were his friends. They had been his friends for years and they had been through so much together. It was just a birthday party. It wasn’t even his first one—Mrs. Weasley had arranged one for him last year. He looked over the arrangements which Augusta had supervised a small army of house elves into producing and placing for the party. Harry himself hadn’t known it was supposed to be a combined birthday party until three days before when he received a letter from Hermione scolding him for not letting _Molly_ know she didn’t need to plan a party because Augusta Longbottom had already been doing so. When Harry had asked for confirmation from Augusta, the woman had looked at him with the same expression Neville used for new plants and then informed him that the appointment for his dress robes was that afternoon and that he would be there. Harry had followed Neville’s example and simply obeyed. Now dressed in brand new dress robes and looking over what Harry was starting to believe may be more a _ball_ than _party_ , Harry was contemplating whether Augusta would let him live if he disappeared for the evening rather than face the collected guests, especially his friends.

 

He startled when he felt arms sliding around his waist, but when the rest of her pressed against him from behind, Harry recognized Luna. The gesture had been growing fairly common between them, but Luna took to doing it nearly every time she came up behind him since the day he had formally made Lily a Potter elf. He could feel her cheek press against his back and even through the layers of fabric which made up his robe and the under-outfit, he could feel her breath. Closing his eyes, he focused on the steadiness of her and allowed his own breathing mimic hers.

 

He knew that he shouldn’t, but he was honest enough to admit that he looked forward to these little ambushes of Luna’s. They were far more relaxing than the times when Ginny would jump him for a quick and fast snog. Not that the two women could really be compared to each other. Ginny was everything one would expect from a Weasley—bright and brilliant like the sun. She threw herself entirely into anything she did, not letting anything hold her back without consequence. She devoured life and still demanded more. Luna was more like the moon she shared names with—just as brilliant and bright as the sun, but in a way that promised peace and whispered secrets. Luna could become just as obsessed with things (as proven by her continued research into methods of traveling through time), but the force of that obsession was not like a fire which devoured obstacles. It was more like an ocean relentlessly but gently beating against the barrier. Like Harry, Luna seemed to find the most enjoyment out of the quiet moments which made up life. She was just as content to listen to Harry read to Lily as she was riding with Neville on the (thankfully non-magical) horses which filled the Thistlewood stables.

 

“Neville knew, didn’t he?” Harry questioned after Luna had coaxed him away from his worry. If Neville knew that this was bigger than a mere birthday party, it would explain his behavior over the last couple of weeks. The only time that Harry had seen him was when the three of them were going to sleep and occasionally at breakfast. Otherwise, Neville had been in the study with Augusta or in the greenhouse which he had warned Harry and Luna to not enter without him directly with them, as it housed the more actively aggressive specimens. He felt her nod. He didn’t want to know but he still found himself asking. “Did you?”

 

“I suspected,” Luna murmured against his back. “It’s traditional to host a ball for the birthday of a young peer after he has finished his schooling. Since both you and Neville are not returning to Hogwarts in the fall, this would count. Ideally, it would not have been sprung on you like this, but maybe Augusta didn’t realize that you didn’t know? I only knew for certain when she cornered me earlier for my own fitting.” He went to pull away, wanting to see her because she sounded so hesitant and Luna simply _wasn’t_ , not about anything. Her arms tightened around his waist, not letting him move enough to even turn. She soothed away any protest he would have made by stroking his stomach like he was one of the thestrals. “I’ll let you go, but first I need you to understand that Augusta insisted and well, I’m not a Gryffindor for a reason.”

 

“I’d rather face down another Horntail, honestly,” Harry assured her. She laughed before letting him go. Carefully, almost timidly, he turned to look at her. It struck him as he stared that she was beautiful. It was a similar feeling to seeing Hermione dressed for the Yule Ball, but it had a current of hunger to it that was utterly unfamiliar. There was no doubt that he was looking at Luna, the girl he had gone to school with and who had needed rescuing from Malfoy’s dungeon only to return the favor by rescuing him from the grief of losing Dobby. At the same time, she was also the woman he had spent the last couple months working beside to rebuild their school, the woman who dared to defy the natural laws of the universe just for a chance to make things _right_. She still had the strength that filled Harry with pride as he remembered that she was his friend yet she also retained the fragility that allowed Harry the excuse of sleeping beside her warmth. The contradiction was just so quintessentially _Luna_ that the perfection stole his breath.

 

Luna was resplendent in the dark navy dress with woad-colored knotwork embroidered over it. It seemed to be made of layers of wispy fabric which turned the navy into a deep indigo. The darkness stood out against her pale skin, of which plenty was showing as the neckline plummeted to swathe of black fabric marking her waist. Her long hair had been put into some complicated hairdo made of braids. Over it all was a net that glimmered where it was not a violet that matched the thick matte ribbon encircling Luna’s slim neck. Her eyes glinted like stars. She had never looked more other-worldly as she did right then, had never appeared to be more like a moon goddess in mortal form.

 

“I… _Luna_ ,” he said, and the syllables seemed loud in the silence that hung between them. She bit her lips nervously and a dangerous curiosity twisted within him, questioning if they tasted like the same as raspberries like they were colored. Her hands came together to grip each other tightly, not moving in the wringing motion that Hermione would have used, just tense. He was not the most observant of blokes, but he knew her well enough to recognize that she was terrified of something. Harry reached for her, two months of exchanging comfort making the gesture far easier than it had ever been with Ginny or even Hermione. She tensed as his hand cupped the back of her neck but relaxed as he pulled her into a careful embrace, both mindful of their attire and Augusta’s wrath should they wrinkle or otherwise become mussed. “I don’t know what you’re worrying about, but I’ll take care of it, if you’d only tell me. If it’s about your outfit, I don’t understand because you—you look stunning. Breathtaking.”

 

“You don’t—“

 

“Should I come back later?” At Neville’s quip, Luna pulled back to look at him. Harry found that watching Neville’s eyes go wide at their friend’s showcased beauty to be surprisingly satisfying. His hazel eyes flickered to Harry who felt exposed in ways that only Luna made him feel in the past. Nervous, Harry tugged on his dark purple waistcoat in lieu of fiddling with his steel-colored bow-tie again. Kreacher had redone the knot three times before he was satisfied with how the bright blue swirls were presented and Harry didn’t want to risk messing up the little guy’s hard work. Despite cooling charms, the black dress robes he wore open over the outfit felt stifling suddenly. Neville looked like he had been hit with a Confundus Charm. “ _Oh_ ,” he said with a high and trilly voice. “That’s what Gran meant.”

 

“Neville,” Luna said urgently. His eyes snapped to her. “He _doesn’t know_.”

 

“Come, children,” Augusta urged as she descended the stairs behind them. “We’ve guests beginning to arrive and we must be prepared to meet them. Miss Lovegood, please attend to the Floo Room with Neville. I’ll keep Mr. Potter with me for instructive purposes.”

 

Harry thanked whichever deity would listen that he knew what was expected of him and didn’t pause longer than a beat before offering the dowager his arm to escort her to the front doors. Augusta gave his arm a reassuring whack with her closed fan. At least, Harry thought it was probably supposed to be reassuring because her frown softened slightly as she looked at him in a side glance. Looking back over the years, perhaps it was best that it was _Voldemort_ who tried to take over Britain, because Augusta would have been considerably scarier. Harry hadn’t been joking about preferring to face another Horntail. If it had been _just_ Voldemort, even that confrontation would be preferable to facing Augusta on a warpath.

 

The next hour was a blur of faces. Thankfully, he wasn’t required to shake everyone’s hands like he had been when Hagrid took him the Leaky Cauldron the first time. As it was, Harry’s back was beginning to ache from maintaining the posture Augusta demanded along with executing the perfect half-bow. Any time his shoulders slumped even the tiniest bit, Augusta’s fan would hit him on the shoulder closest to her. It was never hard, but it was unerringly on the same spot. He would certainly have a bruise.

 

Hermione and the Weasleys arrived through the Floo, but the large group made a point to seek out Harry first thing. Augusta’s grip on her fan tightened. Harry had the impression that she wanted to whack the entire group with the woad-colored contraption but was restraining the urge. If Mrs. Weasley and Augusta decided to duel, Harry wanted to be on the side of the planet. Mrs. Weasley had taken out Bellatrix Lestrange _on her own_ and even as lady-like as she always presented herself, Harry had found Augusta’s trophies from various dueling competitions that ranged from the years she would have been at Hogwarts until seventeen years ago. Between them would not be a safe place.

 

In addition to the displeasure of the two matriarchs, Harry could tell that Hermione and Ginny didn’t seem overly happy about something as well. Harry couldn’t think of anything that he had done that would have upset them beyond the mixup with the party that he hadn’t even known about before Hermione’s letter—and they couldn’t honestly blame him for that. Even complimenting them on their gowns didn’t seem to have any effect on their general peevishness. Neither of them caused his breath to stutter like Luna had, but Hermione always looked lovely in periwinkle and the dark gray of Ginny’s dress made her hair look like captivating flames. Unfortunately, it appeared that Ron had not even picked up on his sister and girlfriend’s mutual irritation, so there was no help from that quarter. Augusta only let the group stay for a few minutes before dismissing them to enter the ballroom on their own so that she and Harry could continue greeting their guests.

 

The evening went quickly once Harry was allowed to join the guests as well. Thankfully, Augusta didn’t even hint that she wanted Harry to open the ball as he had the Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament. He was content to watch as Neville expertly danced with Luna. They made a striking pair, Harry noted. If Luna was a goddess of the night, then Neville must be some kind of forest god. Like Harry, he wore a black dress shirt and slacks. However, where Harry’s open robes were black and his waistcoat violet, Neville’s robes were a dark green and his waistcoat was the same rich woad that matched the knotwork on Luna’s dress and Augusta’s accessories. When Luna leaned against Neville to whisper into his ear, Harry was struck by an odd appreciation of just how well woad matched his friend’s eyes. Had they always been that striking a blue? Neville laughed at whatever Luna had said with his whole body, throwing his head back and making his golden hair gleam in the candlelight. Harry sighed wistfully as his friends stared into each other’s eyes drifting into oblivion to the other couples joining them on the dancefloor.

 

A person pressing against his side pulled Harry from his observation of Neville and Luna. The scent of yarrow told him that it was Ginny even before he looked. The flower grew all over the Burrow and Mrs. Weasley used it to scent the toiletries she made for her youngest. Harry only knew the name of it because Aunt Petunia always complained about how _common_ it was and forced Harry to pull it whenever it dared to grow in _her_ garden. He had always thought it had an understated charm.

 

Looking at his girlfriend, Harry was surprised to find that she was glaring at Neville and Luna like she wanted to set them on fire with her eyes. Confusion filled him. Why wasn’t she happy for their friends? It had to be clear that they would soon become a couple, especially since Ginny hadn’t been around for the slow growth of the feelings they were currently reflecting towards each other. Maybe she was jealous?

 

“Would you like to dance, Gin?”

 

It was the only thing he could think she wanted. He honestly was no better than he was at the Yule Ball, but if Ginny wanted to dance, he would try. Thankfully, it seemed the right thing to say, because Ginny beamed at him before taking the offer of his arm. Her smile was smug as he led her onto the dancefloor. Harry tried to remember the proper hold but drew a blank initially. Catching sight of his roommates, Harry slid his hands into the same places Neville was holding Luna. He counted the beats in his head before sweeping Ginny into the motions of a waltz.

 

“Have you heard back from the Harpies yet?”

 

“Oh, um, yes,” Ginny replied. She flushed as her lips pursed. “They’d prefer a player with more experience. Let’s not talk about them.” There was a flourish to the music and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Neville spin with Luna. A beat behind them, Harry moved Ginny the same way. “Hermione has been organizing the shopping trip for next week.”

 

“Shopping trip?”

 

“For Hogwarts,” Ginny answered, sounding puzzled. “The letters came the day before yesterday, remember?”

 

“Oh, I’m not going back.” Harry spun Ginny again as the orchestra flourished again. “Neither are Neville and Luna. We’ve got appointments to sit the NEWTs in December.”

 

“Not going back? But you didn’t tell me! Or any of us! We’ve been planning everything to return to school! What do you mean that you’re not going back!”

 

Ginny stopped their movements when she had begun her spiel, growing louder with each syllable. Harry was uncomfortably aware of how everyone was now watching them. It didn’t help that he wasn’t quite certain what he had done to warrant this level of outrage. He didn’t hide his plans from his friends, not exactly. They just hadn’t had the chance to discuss their plans for the future. They had been busy—there had just been so much to do.

 

“Ginny, maybe we should move this—“

 

“YOU!” Ginny screeched as she turned to Luna. “This was your idea, wasn’t it!”

 

“I really think that this should be—“

 

“You don’t get to decide things like that for Harry!”

 

“Neither do you,” Neville said. Ginny’s mouth snapped shut with a _snick_ of her teeth. Harry felt nothing but relief for Neville’s interference. Too many people underestimated the gardener, forgetting that the Hat chose Gryffindor despite Neville arguing against it. “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this. This is a party—“

 

“What is going on here?” Hermione demanded. Harry bit back a groan. Hermione would be sure to lecture him about the irresponsibility of not returning for his seventh year no matter what other plans he had carefully made with input from an actual adult with real world experience—Augusta may be the scariest woman Harry had ever met, but she was also without a doubt intelligent and experienced...and apparently coming this way if the parting of the gathered crowd was any indication. _‘Oh, kill me now, please.’_

 

“Harry’s not going back to Hogwarts,” Ginny tattled with far more desperation that Dudley had ever shown doing the same. Predictably, Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she focused on Harry who was finding it hard to breathe around the lump of fear now choking him. He had thought being between Mrs. Weasley and Augusta would have been Bad, but _this_ was far worse. Hermione, Ginny, _and_ Augusta arguing about something Harry did or didn’t do? Harry begged Neville with his eyes to save him from what must be certain and agonizing death. Neville looked like he was going to for a moment before Augusta managed to reach the group of teens. For all his jokes about running from his grandmother’s wrath, Neville was too much of a Gryffindor to abandon his friends to it.

 

“What seems to be issue here?”

 

“I believe that Ginny has some issue with Harry’s plans for his NEWTs, Gran,” Neville said before either Ginny or Hermione could say anything. Luna had her hands folded together as she watched the proceedings. Her bottom lip dipped in the way that Harry knew meant she had caught the inside of it between her teeth, as obvious a tell of her anxiety as her folded hands. Augusta frowned more tightly than her normal frown, somehow without also thinning her lips as Aunt Petunia would or squinting like Mrs. Weasley did. It was really impressive and Harry kind of hoped that he’d be able to frown that way someday.

 

“Is that so? Pray tell, what is this issue?” The question was offered with a gentleness that made a shiver go down Harry’s spine. If either Hermione or Ginny heard the subtle threat, it certainly didn’t stop them from speaking in a rush over each other so that their words tangled in such a way that made understanding what they were each saying difficult.

 

“Harry is refusing to return to Hogwarts like he needs to—“

 

“Harry’s abandoning his education and at such a time that the wizarding world needs—“

 

“That is quite enough prattling on,” Augusta interrupted. Both girls squeaked as their complaints were abruptly silenced. The dowager drew herself up to her not-unimpressive height, reinforcing Harry’s opinion that a Horntail would be a safer opponent. “You are correct that Mr. Potter will not be returning to Hogwarts when it opens in the fall. After much deliberation and consultation with myself, he is electing for independent study followed by sitting his NEWTs at the Ministry’s winter proctor session. Regardless of you may have been led to believe, Mr. Potter is not required to attend Hogwarts, for any reason. He has already done the world an unquestioningly great service in vanquishing that upstart dark lord not once but twice. To ask more of him would be uncouth.”

 

“I won’t stand for this,” Mrs. Weasley interjected. Harry vehemently wished that the ground would just open up and consume him already. Even after six years at Hogwarts, the weight of everyone’s staring made him twitchy. Being at the center of a group of people with volatile tempers did nothing to ease that tension. This was quickly becoming even worse than the birthday he had blown up Aunt Marge or even the one where Dobby dropped a pudding on Mrs. Mason’s head. It didn’t help that Mrs. Weasley’s face was as red as her hair. “How dare you speak to my daughter like that and then lecture on rudeness?! This isn’t up for discussion, anyway. Of course Harry is going back to Hogwarts. He needs to finish his education just like the rest of my children.”

 

“You fail to recognize that Mr. Potter is not one of your brood,” Augusta declared. Her dark blue eyes focused entirely on Molly Weasley as she tapped her fan against her palm. Each beat matched every third of Harry’s heart. “You do not have the right to make declarations for him. You presume too much and I will not tolerate it in my house any longer. Please leave and take your children with you.”

 

“Fine!” Mrs. Weasley replied before beginning to herd Ginny, Ron, and Hermione out of the ballroom. She had gotten only a short distance before she realized that Harry wasn’t following. “Come along, Harry dear. It’s time to go.”

 

“Um,” Harry stuttered. He looked to his roommates standing beside him in silent question. Neville had his left hand cupping the back of Luna’s neck as she stared back at Harry. She looked like she was about to cry again at the thought of him leaving—as if doing so would mean something more than trying to smooth things over with his girlfriend’s mother, or as if someone was going to die. Harry didn’t completely understand, but he could leave with Luna looking like that. He would face a thousand Horntails to erase those unshed tears. Raising his chin like he was facing Voldemort again, Harry turned to answer Mrs. Weasley. “I’m not leaving, Mrs. Weasley. I live here. I’m not going back to Hogwarts in the fall—I already have made other plans for my education. I appreciate that you care, but I’m not your child.”

 

“You’re as good as!” Mrs. Weasley declared and the painful reminder made fury burst in him. All the long nights talking about the past with Luna and comparing loss had given him a different perspective on the arguments between the Weasley matriarch and Sirius. He couldn’t let this stand.

 

“I never was!” he roared, not caring about the people watching them any longer. “If I was, you would have done something when the twins and Ron had to rescue me after first year! You wouldn’t have left me alone after Cedric was killed or after Sirius was! I am only ever one of your children when it is convenient for you—when it will win an argument. I already have family that does that—and I hate them! I gave up everything for other people and now I’m going to live for me.”

 

“Harry Potter! Don’t you take that tone with me, young man! You will apologize this minute!”

 

“I’m sorry if you’re not okay with the choices that I’m making and if you think they’re mistakes, but you know what? They’re _my_ mistakes to make and by god, I’m going to make them.”

 

“You were asked to leave, Mrs. Weasley,” Neville said, stepping in between the arguers. The blond had his back to Harry, and almost as if by habit was clear of his field of fire, in case wands were drawn and Harry needed the space. As comforting as it was, the gesture was spoke volumes about how Neville viewed Mrs. Weasley at that moment.

 

“Harry, you can’t stay with them!” Ginny countered, her face unpleasantly splotched in her rage. “I don’t know what is going on here, but you need to come home with us so that we can sort it out away from homewrecking sluts!”

 

“I’m not going anywhere!” Harry argued. Then his brain caught up with what his girlfriend had just said. “Wait—what? Who are you—you mean _Luna_?”

 

“Just come home, Harry,” Ginny demanded. Harry stared at her, speechless. What the hell did she think that insulting Luna would accomplish? He couldn’t believe that he had never seen her irrational jealousy before that moment. God, he was such an idiot.

 

“I am home, Ginny,” he stated. He tried not to feel guilty when her brown eyes filled with tears before she fled the ballroom. Hermione stalked towards him in the same way he had watched her do to a certain Slytherin ferret back in third year. Harry may not have given into the need to step back from his best friend, but he was thankful when Neville fully blocked her approach just the same. Her quick-paced footfalls echoed in the strangely quiet ballroom a moment later. Mrs. Weasley huffed a breath of her own before herding her youngest son in their wake.

 

It felt like the end of something. His chest was too tight suddenly. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be—this wasn’t the way he had planned on spending his birthday or his life after the war. This wasn’t the plan. Numbly, he let Luna pull him from the dance floor and out of the room entirely. Only when she had settled them on something and pressed his head against her shoulder did he give into the tears that were drowning him. The truth hurt too much right then, but with her arms wrapped around him, he knew only that he had meant every syllable.

 

He was already home.


	6. Conflicted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal is to have this project finished by the start of the new semester. Which looks like it might actually be possible, since this is the second to last chapter. After I finish writing the last chapter (which is currently roughly two-thirds done already), my plan is to go back through the entire thing for a last edit before going back through Defying Veils and the first nine chapters of Through Feline Eyes for continuity edits. There's also another connector oneshot in the works so keep an eye out for that.

-= LP =-

The Schrodinger Effect

Part 06: Conflicted

-= LP =-

“We accept the love we think we deserve.” – Stephen Chbosky, _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” – Eden Ahbez, _Nature Boy_

-= LP =-

 

Things since the ball had been tensed in ways that Harry couldn’t really understand. Finding Neville and Luna whispering together had become more common than it ever had, and Harry was happy for them—really, truly, and without reservation. The memory of them in each other’s arms on the dance floor was burned into his memory: their mutual beauty glowing in the abundant candlelight was only matched by the happiness apparent on their faces as they looked into each other’s eyes. Neither had said anything about getting together to Harry and any time he brought it up they’d shift the conversation to Luna’s almost finished project, but maybe they were trying to spare him discomfort in the aftermath of his breakup with Ginny. That would be just like them—putting his comfort before their growing closeness—but it really wasn’t needed. He was happy for them.

 

Harry refused to say anything about the growing ache he experienced whenever he thought of them finally recognizing that he was just in their way—and it was only made worse by Luna’s hesitant reveal concerning the requirements of the ritual that would build the bridge back through time. He understood why they couldn’t all go (someone had to anchor it long enough to be successful) and he could admit that the thought of Luna going alone into danger was completely unacceptable, but the idea of being left behind again by a pair of friends hurt like a basilisk fang through the heart. It was only right that Neville accompanied Luna: they made an excellent pair—really one of those couples like the ones from the romance novels he wasn’t supposed to know that Aunt Petunia read. Harry didn’t want to break that up—because he was happy for them, really and truly. At the same time, it hurt to see them together and know that the time was coming that he would be on the outside again, not a part of their trio any more. This time there wouldn’t anyone to help him through the pain of being alone. But he understood how important saving her parents was to Luna and they were going to save so many others. It hurt to see them together; it hurt to know they were leaving; and there was no way he could say any of that to them. The whole situation just _hurt_ beyond any kind of measure.

 

Harry tried to give them space without being obvious about it. He knew how important Ginny had always said time alone was for couples before pulling him away from everyone back when they were dating. The logic gave him a plausible excuse to try acclimating himself to their impending departure. He couldn’t bring himself to go so far as returning to Grimmauld Place (not when he knew time was officially running out), but he did try to sleep in the room that Augusta had given him rather than the one they had shared for the last few months. On the third morning, he awoke to find that they had joined him some time during the night. Luna was tucked under his chin with his arms curled tightly around her while Neville was plastered against his back with _his_ arms around both of them. It was unfair—everything he couldn’t admit to wanting without any meaning behind it. From then on, the more he tried to pull away, to give them the space they needed as a new couple, the more often he found himself in the company of one or both of them.

 

He wanted to say something—he knew that he definitely _should_ say something—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it even if he could figure out what to say. He couldn’t risk losing the right to linger in the library after they wrapped up their study sessions, watching as Luna double-checked her work and knowing that she was _safe_. Sometimes, that need burned hot and obsessive within him and he _understood_ Snape so fucking much in those moments because he would definitely be willing to destroy every little thing that resembled decency about himself if it would protect any bit of her.

 

It was harder to admit how those feelings transferred to his fellow Lion. It wasn’t the same intensity, that urge to _protect_ , maybe because he hadn’t found Neville in a dungeon with a haunted look in his eyes—or alone in a pub intent on _dying_ but willing to spend his last moments being sloppily affectionate. Neville hadn’t been safe either during the war; Harry knew that and every glimpse of new scar tissue that hadn’t been there at the end of their sixth served as a reminder of that. Yet Neville seemed…somehow _stronger_ than either Harry or Luna, like he had things together more. It was obvious in the way Neville just went with things until he nudged things otherwise—whether it was Luna’s mad plan to change the past or Shacklebolt’s increasingly insistent owls about Harry joining the Auror Corps. All of it was handled with the same patient efficiency used to manage even the deadliest of Neville’s plants. Neville could make reporters silence themselves just as easily as he had stopped Hermione’s retaliation at the ball.

 

Harry could see what drew his friends together, he really could, which was why he should _say something_ before he ruined it for them. Except now that Harry had decided to say something, he found himself hovering in the doorway to Neville’s favorite greenhouse, unwilling to interrupt the blond as he repotted seedlings. Watching Neville work soothed Harry’s nerves just as much as watching Luna, and Harry honestly didn’t know why that was when Ron and Hermione never had. Not even those few blissfully _normal_ months with Ginny before Dumbledore’s death hadn’t held the same sense of serenity.

 

“So have you thought about what you want us to change?” Neville asked without turning from the potting table. Harry shook his head to clear whatever it was that had made his thoughts slow from frenetic whorls of worry to a soft trickle like water dripping off leaves after a rain. Through it all, Neville carefully extracted the seedlings from the starter tray before gently setting them in their own individual pots. He hummed as he worked, waiting Harry out with a meandering melody.

 

“I thought we had already discussed that. Wasn’t that what those charts were for?”

 

“We did talk about the things that cost lives,” Neville agreed. He tamped the growing medium lightly before starting on another seedling. Harry let his worries about losing everything pull him closer to the other man. Neville gave no sign of noting the change. “You realize that there are other things that can be changed if you want. Luna and I will be ourselves, but you’d be as you were _then_. Beyond saving people who died, we could…”

 

“You could what?” Harry whispered. It felt like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out on him. Neville couldn’t be suggesting what he thought he was. Would that even be possible? No one had ever cared about the Dursleys’ treatment of him beyond a few passing comments—and hadn’t Dumbledore said it was necessary for his protection? He was freezing and dizzy and he couldn’t _think_ about what it would mean to have— A hand cupped the back of his neck, gritty but so warm. It anchored him, letting him suck in life-giving air. A shiver wracked through him and the grip on his neck tightened. Something within him softened like wax near a fire and it was like everything just _melted_.

 

“It’s okay, Harry.” Neville didn’t need prompting to pull Harry into a hug. It was second nature after a summer sharing a bed with his two friends. He didn’t even consider letting go of Harry as the man wept in a way that Neville had never seen him do—loudly and thoroughly, as if these wounds ran even deeper than the grief of losing his family or the quiet tears he couldn’t stop for hours after the row at the ball. Even the nightmares of Cedric and Sirius’ deaths were rarely more than a choked off scream, even when Harry spent hours after the initial jerk awake just shaking silently and tensing at any sound and shift. Neville had a feeling that Harry’s flippant dismissal of his relatives went far beyond the qualification of _didn’t really like me_.

 

As Neville listened to Harry’s stumbling (and probably unaware) confession of _no one_ ever bothering to even ask about the Dursleys, Neville finally received the horrifying confirmation that it was probably even worse than just neglect and bullying. He kept one hand on Harry’s nape through it all, using the other hand to stroke any part of Harry he could reach, knowing from watching how Luna handled the third of their trio that Harry soaked up touch like a sponge—oh, sweet Morrigan, like he had stumbled upon an oasis after too long in the desert and wasn’t that telling? Neville had the sudden urge to practice some of the Carrows’ favorite curses on a certain bookworm friend (ex-friend if Neville had any say in the matter but he knew that he didn’t, not really) of Harry’s when he remembered how Hermione had stalked towards Harry at the ball, her hand already raising to strike, while Harry had just stood his ground _resigned_ to taking it.

 

Somewhere amidst the breakdown, they had ended up on the floor of the greenhouse, with Harry half-curled on Neville’s lap like a child. Neville only noticed the passage of time once Harry had wept himself into exhaustion and finally fell into a sleep that would hopefully be too deep for dreams. Feeling drained himself, Neville had to blink several times to get his eyes to focus enough to turn the hazy white figure on the other side of Harry into a vaguely Luna-shaped image.

 

“We aren’t leaving him there,” Luna declared as if it was as obvious as the sun rose in the east—as if it would be that simple. The sun rose in the east; the moon went through phases; and _they wouldn’t be leaving Harry at the Dursleys_. Her silvery eyes flashed like light off the blade of a sword and Neville could see in her expression the man who had killed in a single battle a third of Voldemort’s highest trained duelists. Even scarier were the bits that _weren’t_ Xenophilius, but something far older and more powerful than a mere wizard could ever aspire to be. The bit within him that was his mother’s son stirred restlessly in answer, damaged but angrily protective. Neville’s voice held a tempest as he confirmed the thought with Magic backing up every syllable.

 

“Not a single moment longer than absolutely necessary to ensure he’s never forced to return.”

 

Magic sparked into a binding vow that echoed without sound throughout existence. Somewhere _between_ , a woman with fluffy black hair laughed while her brother groused over the changes in his precious tome. The trio on the floor of Thistlewood’s nursery greenhouse settled in a greatly-needed sleep from which even the ancient elf shifting to their shared bed couldn’t stir them.


	7. The Last Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has been building to this moment, their last moment together. In less than a year, they’ve managed the impossible. Harry remembered the story of Pandora’s box…and he remembered what was left at the bottom when everything else escaped. He agreed with those who called that trapped hope _the last evil_. At least it’s not Halloween.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning(s)** : During part of this chapter, certain assumptions are made and potential (re)actions are mentioned. It was mentioned in the first chapter by Xenophilius that Death Eaters are not kind and the referenced action is a furthering of that narrative. Unfortunately, no matter how BAMF witches can be in the HPverse, female-bodied individuals remain statistically more vulnerable in most societies and things like what is hinted as having happened during the occupation of Hogwarts are, sadly, common for occupying forces to do. Nothing is graphic but as the author, I am cautioning those with sensitivities to this trigger proceed with caution.

-= LP =-

The Schrodinger Effect

Part 06: The Last Evil

-= LP =-

“We have done the impossible, and that makes us mighty.”

– Captain Malcolm Reynolds from _Firefly_ by Joss Whedon

-= LP =-

 

Neville had never been interested in certain things that had fascinated his yearmates. While Seamus’ seemingly insatiable appetite for certain things had been a considerable extreme, Neville still didn’t understand exactly why everyone thought snogging was so important. He had thought that Harry was similarly confused but he had never resisted Ginny dragging him off to various closets and abandoned classrooms. (He understood better now that Harry probably hadn’t resist for reasons other than wanting to shag like a bunny.) It wasn’t that he had found the idea gross or anything like that. He just didn’t see why he should mindlessly pursue anything promising the potentiality of sex when there were plenty of things that would be a better use of his time. Besides, the only girl to pay him any attention had been Luna and she didn’t indicate that those activities interested her any more than they did him.

 

He understood that someday he would have to produce at least one heir for the House of Longbottom. Gran knew how his parents had felt about arranged betrothals, so while she had never made formal arrangements, she had made sure he knew the courtship rites and traditions as well as who already had contracts. Neville did hope to marry for love like his parents had, but during the War, romance seemed less important that making sure as many students made it out the other side more or less in one piece. Not an easy task, that, even after moving the more vulnerable ones into the Room. Living in close quarters with Seamus Finnegan (opposed to just sharing a dorm) had the unfortunate consequence of reminding the lot of them that the making of heirs did not require love.   
  
Living under the barely restrained reign of the Carrows had made it abundantly clear that even betrothals weren’t enough to protect against poaching—it had only taken the siblings killing a witch for refusing their company once for everyone to learn that lesson. Of course, her betrothed had proceeded to be their most vicious boogeyman for the rest of the occupation and Neville suspected that the quiet Ravenclaw was the one who had left them in grisly display in the Ravenclaw Tower, taking advantage of their convenient incapacitation and the distraction of the Final Battle to spend what could have been _hours_ repaying them for the murder of his fiancée. Last he had heard, the Silverhale heir was being sent abroad to finish his studies. There were a lot of those stories.

 

Gran hadn’t pressured him any on the matter—knowing that it would take Britannia time to truly regain its feet after the War. She had made it _very_ clear that she approved of his growing association with Harry and Luna, however. Giving them their own rooms next to his had not been exactly subtle but still within the acceptability of discretion. He still hadn’t figured out if dressing Luna in a combination of Longbottom and Black colors was a shove in the direction she wished him to go or a reaction to him sleeping with his best friends. Of course, without a spell to check, Gran wouldn’t know that nothing untoward had happened between them and those spells couldn’t be cast in secret. Even asking for the spell could be considered an insult—and given the recent Death Eater control, impractical as the results would most likely be skewed.

 

As much as he didn’t like her high-handedness in just ordering it, he could understand both her motivation and reasoning behind doing it. Gran didn’t just approve of Luna and Harry; she _liked_ them. Due to Luna’s captivity during the war, there were certain political implications in the mix, which the subtle declaration of intent would resolve. With the backing of Longbottom on the claim of impending marital alliance with Lovegood, Harry wouldn’t be swamped with offers once it became obvious he was done with Hogwarts.

 

It added complications though.

 

Things with the Weasleys were going to be strained for a while, since one of them had thought it wise to dress Ginny in Potter gray the same way that Gran had Luna in the Black triad. Judging by their faces when they spotted Luna at his side, Neville was putting his money on Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny being the masterminds behind it. It might have worked how they had wanted if they knew anything about how the system truly worked and what Houses Harry would be able to claim once he reached the right age—as prestigious as Potter was, it was outranked by Black and Peverell. Neville couldn’t fault the play—after all, that’s how the game was played among the marrying set. Wearing the colors of your suitor’s House (if they were the higher House) told the competition that this one was claimed and to pursue further was to risk a feud. Ginny’s move had only backfired because she chose a lesser House’s colors, which indicated in that same sneaky way that she wasn’t a true consort candidate. To his mind, it was yet another mark against Hermione, however.

 

_“He doesn’t know.”_

 

Neville hadn’t realized just how much information he had assumed that Harry had known about the world. Sure, he was used to just freely offering information whenever Harry got that little furrow between his eyebrows, knowing that Harry didn’t like asking if it could be avoided—but until Luna’s urgent whisper on the stairs that day, it had never occurred to him what exactly being raised by muggles meant for Harry. He wouldn’t know about the polite games played by the wizarding community, wouldn’t realize the significance of little gestures and fashion. Harry wouldn’t have noticed how the scions of the more powerful Houses had eyed him for indications of permission to approach—did he even realize who the Potters _were_ in magical Britain? Didn’t anyone tell him? Because while Harry didn’t like asking, he would have eventually.

 

In the wake of the fiasco that was their birthday ball, Harry had taken to avoiding both Luna and himself, even going so far as to make excuses to leave rooms. Neville had thought he was upset at being manipulated, but Harry hadn’t seemed angry so much as distressed about something. When they had finalized the travel plans (and doesn’t that make it sound like going a decade into the past was the same as booking a portkey to Nice), Harry had agreed with the initial suggestion for Harry to be the anchor while Neville went with Luna. It was like he had already been resigned to being left—like that was just the way things were going.

 

Then Harry hadn’t shown up in their room one night. Neville had gone searching the second night, finding the man in the room that had actually been given to him. He didn’t sleep that night, too worried about how Harry was faring on his own to settle. Much of it had been spent pacing between the rooms to check on Harry or back to check on Luna. When he would have done the same on the next night, Luna had simply glided past him into Harry’s room before she slid into the bed. Not even waking, Harry had curled around her like Devil’s Snare. Joining them had been like the first gulp of breath after being strangled, painful and wonderful in equal measure.

 

Seamus had always describe lust as a fire burning out of control. Ron had made it seem like a demand that had to be followed. Dean had been clear that getting off, with or without help, was a basic need. Neville had never understood—and truthfully, he still didn’t really get it—but since the evening he had held Harry as he broke down at the suggestion of escaping his childhood home, something had shifted. It was like a wand being lit. No, like suddenly noticing a plant breaking free of the ground.

 

Neville had never _wanted_ so badly in his life. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted but the feeling was there. He wanted to touch and stroke and taste, not just Harry but Luna too. It was terrifying and intense. If this was what the other guys had been talking about, Neville could understand the obsession. This feeling was glacially cold but burned like an inferno. It cajoled like a siren’s call but at times it screamed like a veela. While he didn’t think that a climax was needed, Neville could certainly agree that he needed them in his arms like he needed air.

 

As the day for the ritual grew nearer, it occurred to Neville that he really ought to talk about this, maybe back out of it entirely. Then he would watch Luna preparing some detail and he _knew_ that she would try on her own if they didn’t help. She would be safer if she wasn’t alone and if it worked, then Harry wouldn’t be alone either. So he said nothing and tried to fill their last hours together with the silent declaration of his feelings.

 

-= LP =-

 

Luna checked the lines again. The magic overlaying the chalk had already grown bright enough that looking gave her spots, but she had to be _sure_. So much depended upon everything being perfect that she would probably check even during the ritual itself. She was obsessed and she knew it—but knowing didn’t change anything.

 

Not like going back would.

 

She’d save her mother, stop the explosion that killed her. Then she'd save Harry. All her calculations indicated that they’d most likely have to wait until Sirius had escaped before they had any chance of success, but by then they should have everything in place. If possible, they may even have a couple of the horcruxes destroyed as well.

 

They had a plan. It should work. It would work. This night was going to be hard enough for Harry, because physical matter couldn’t be sent back and there was only one way to separate an intact soul from its physical vessel. Well, there were probably other ways, but the Killing Curse was the cleanest and swiftest. It ensured the greatest chance of success. She just needed to check everything once more. Just once more—it had to be perfect.

 

Because they wouldn’t get a second chance and then Harry, _their Harry_ , would be alone. That couldn’t happen. Harry…he was _everything_ and that’s what he deserved. Even if she had to remake all of time and space while fighting against every power in the universe, that is what she would give him.

 

_Everything_.

 

-= LP =-

 

It was white. That was the first thing that Harry noticed after the green faded. The basement at Grimmauld Place had been dark when they had started the ritual and then after he had killed— _released_ Luna and Neville, the explosion of that sickly light had blinded him. Maybe he was still blind because everything was so impossibly bright and so very _white_. There didn’t seem to be any discernable details as far as he could see.

 

“Master,” a voice stated from behind him, causing him to jump and spin. He lifted his wand, only to find that it wasn’t his; it was Dumbledore’s or rather the Elder Wand. He couldn’t spend much time pondering that as his attention was immediately captured by the petite woman in front of him. He had seen punk rockers around London and Edinburgh when he and Neville would go on their pub crawls, but something about this particular woman seemed different, for all that she wore the same style of clothing. Her hair was similar to how he had worn his back in third year—that impossible middle length that looked good on both sexes and just like his, it was a wild mass of fluffy flyaways. Most peculiar was her makeup; one eye had a delicate curl descending from the center and her lips were the color of the dark wine that they had used for their Equinox celebration just hours before the ritual where he had killed— _released_ his best friends. Around her neck was a simple black ribbon with a silver ankh charm dangling from it.

 

“I’m not a master,” Harry replied. It seemed the most important thing at the moment. He had to make that distinction immediately, regardless of whatever else was happening right now. She smiled at him sadly.

 

“But you are my Master,” she countered. She said it so simply, just as Luna would have. He felt as if he had to swallow around bits of gravel at the reminder of the woman as he had last seen her: collapsed in a pile of unmoving flesh with her empty eyes still open. It was hard to breath. He shook his head in denial of both the image and the words. “You have been touched by all my Hallows, and have touched the Endless. You were Chosen, for many things, long before you were born. You are my Master.”

 

“I can’t be anyone’s master,” Harry protested. It was an old argument—he had had it with Kreacher so many times before they had made their compromise. He wasn’t capable of being cruel or of punishing anyone or taking charge of them. Luna was the one who always knew what to do and if she didn’t, then Neville did. And now they were both _dead_ and he had _killed them_. He dropped the wand and bunched his hair in his hands, tugging ruthlessly at the strands. His eyes clenched closed as if that could block out what the woman was saying and the image of Neville falling backwards, so much like Sirius had. “I can’t—don’t you understand? I c-can’t.”

 

He felt cool hands covering his own, tangling with his fingers and forcing them to loosen their hold. She tugged him towards her until their bodies were flushed. Her head fit perfectly under his chin, just as Luna always had, and oh, god, she had the same haunting scent of Star-of-Bethlehem that had surrounded Luna. The gravel was back. His hands clutched hers. It must have hurt, but she didn’t complain, nor did she pushed to change the hold he had upon her. His eyes burned with the tears that wanted to escape but his eyes were too tightly clenched to allow them any freedom. He had known that it would hurt, sending them back, but this felt more like something vital and deeply internal had ripped apart.

 

“You’re Death,” he managed finally. The little woman moved her head in a positive manner. At once, he stepped back, moving his hands to her biceps. He met her eyes as if attempting to burn her with his rage. “Take me to them. I can’t—not without them. I thought I could, but I _can’t_ continue. You say I’m your master. I order you to take me.”

 

“I cannot do that, Master,” she replied calmly, as if his grip would not have been bruising her had she been human. “I have no rules but one. I cannot take my Master.”

 

“Then bring them back to me,” he ordered.

 

“Oh, Master,” she whispered, her dark eyes filling with tears, “they are already gone. The deed is done and cannot be undone. Bringing them to you would serve no purpose.”

 

“Am I your master?”

 

“You are my Master.”

 

“Then obey me. Bring them here. _Now_.”

 

“There is no here, Master.” Death raised her arms so that she could cup his face in her hands, his hands slipping away from her as numbness filled him. Her thumbs stroked his cheekbones and he realized that she was attempting to wipe away his tears. “Here is falling apart, even as we speak. Time cannot be rewritten easily. There must always be a Price and as the Power resides in you, it is _you_ who must pay it. I cannot tell you if you will have them again. That hasn’t been decided.”

 

“What Price?”

 

“This, Master,” she answered and suddenly he understood. The pain ripping through his very soul at having killed Luna and Neville and the crippling regret of knowing how much they meant to him but far too late for it to mean anything other than sorrow, these were the Price of meddling with Time. As if she had read his mind, she gave him a solemn nod. His legs gave out beneath him. He fell to his knees. A wail pierced the silence. Lost in his grief, Harry didn’t even realize that it was from him.

 

-= LP =-

An Ending

-= LP =-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the final chapter. I’m flying several flags in this chapter. Yes, that’s a Firefly quotation and I’ve been saving it for this chapter. Yes, that’s Death of the Endless from Sandman, Constantine, and The Books of Magic. She just kind of popped up when I realized that Harry was going to meet Death. Those of you reading along with Through Feline Eyes will recognize a couple referenced characters in the first section. And yes, Neville is on the asexual spectrum; specifically, his experience is modeled off my own demisexuality. REPRESENT, y’all!  
> To head off questions on the topic, this story ends here not because I’m “bored” or “tired” or whatever other synonym for “lazy” you want to use. This story ends here because this is where it was always meant to end. The goal of the story was to have Luna (at the very least) go back in time. It was not about the changes that she and Neville made once they did so. Luna going back in time is the effect of Xenophilius not knowing if his daughter was alive or dead (as the cat in Schrodinger’s thought experiment). After that point, things are the effect of Luna going back.


End file.
